Flying Includes Falling
by silentlyspeaking
Summary: Wait, lets do some math here: Hermione plus flying broom plus height equals hurling through meters of air.  I have deduced that, yes, to preserve my life, I will never ride a broom again.  Some cackling witch I am. HHr


Flying Includes Falling

"Just get on."

"But…"

"The only way you can learn to ride a broom is by experience. It makes no difference how many books you read or how many notes you take."

I shift in nervousness and gulp at the sight of the hovering broom. I grind my sneakers into the dirt, reminding myself how much I love the feeling of solid ground. He puts his hand on my shoulder. "I trust my Firebolt more then anything, Hermione, almost more than you." His green eyes bare down upon my brown ones.

"But, Ron…" I stumble, looking down at the dirt path.

"Is not the best teacher," he finishes. "He admits that he pushed you too hard and too fast, Hermione."

"All he wanted was to take a moonlight broom stick ride with me. He had good intentions; I am just too stupid to learn."

He sighs and lets his arm fall from my shoulder. "I should wash you mouth out with soap for saying such a ridicules lie." he whispers.

"What do you mean, Ron was not trying to kill me, I swear; he was just trying to be romantic."

Harry gives me a sharp look, "Maybe I should just say this bluntly, you are no where close to stupid Hermione."

I blush and divert my gaze to the sparkling lake in front of Hogwarts Castle. I am Gryffindor for heavens sake, get your guts up girl. Just because I fell into such looked at lake at midnight, fighting the giant squid thing, almost catching hypothermia, and, most frightening, hurling down about twenty feet before belly flopping into before described water, does not mean that I can never allow myself to ride a broom again.

Wait, lets do some math here: Hermione + flying broom + height hurling through meters of air. I have deduced that, yes, to preserve my life, I will never ride a broom again. Some cackling witch I am. Why did I agree to this lesson anyways? Oh, yes, peer pressure, damn the crowd, or should I say damn Harry and Ron?

"Harry, there are some things people can not do, no matter how hard they try. Flying is my 'can not do'….ever."

"Well then my 'can not do' is kill Voltimort."

"Harry," I say sharply, "It is your destiny."

"Well, I proclaim it your destiny to fly"

"But this is different"

"How? Both destinies can end in death, both are dangerous and difficult, both include me by your side and you by my side. Tell me Hermione, how are they different?" He stands as rigid as his argument while I struggle for a come back. His emerald eyes flame with the dare to contradict him while I gape in loss.

Finally, I meekly reply, "The entire wizarding world does not depend on my ability to fly."

He growls at me, "and who says the entire wizarding world depends on me? Someone else could kill Voltimort. In fact someone else might even be better at it."

This time it is me giving Harry the fierce look, "So tell me why did you get that gaudy lighting bolt on you forehead? Bad bully accident?"

"No, it was from attempted murder," he grits his teeth.

"Just like your trying to do to me now?"

Anger flashes through his eyes at the biting banter; this is straying far from playfulness. I cringe in his intimidating body language. He is going to do something I will hate, I know…and even before I can finish my thought, he roughly grabs me, jumps onto the still hovering Firebolt, and kicks off into the sunny afternoon sky while positioning my body in front of his, his arms around my waist, securing me to the broom stick.

"Harry, Harry, HARRY!!!!" I panic; my ears pop from the pressure as we quickly gain altitude.

"I hope you like attempted murder," he whispers. I can feel the grin on his face. I clutch tight to the flimsy wooden handle and squeeze my eyes shut as we incline. "I am going to kill you, Harry James Potter!!!!" I yell. Then he pauses--did I scare him--and down we plummet--damn him!

He laughs, the wind whipping my hair into his face. My stomach drops and my screams heighten. I am too young to die.

His hands tighten around my waist and he bends toward my ear. "Do you trust me?" I can barely hear his question above the whistling of the wind in my ears. "Somehow, yess," I stutter. It might have to do with the fact that I am at your mercy.

"Open your eyes"

I slowly crack open my lids, relaxing my scrunched up eyebrows. Harry hugs me tighter, reassuring me that he won't actually kill me, maybe just scare me to death. I slowly open my eyes completely and tears instantly stream out from the cold air, but I can see the lake, which is growing closer. I shiver and open my mouth to scream again, but Harry speaks before I can emit my intensifying fear. "Spread your arms."

"Are you crazy!"

"Do it or we will crash into the lake for a cold swim"

"Harry!" I say in outrage; I will fly off the broom.

"You said you trusted me." He squeezes me tighter. I can feel his shirt buttons through his school robes. I gulp and reluctantly lift my arms as the lake surface grows closer.

My black robe flaps in the wind and I unclench my hands. The lake draws nearer as we fall faster. I begin to laugh hysterically. I am going to die. This is my last moment of life. I despise you Harry.

Suddenly the broom pulls up from its pernicious fall and the air resistance splashes water all over my outstretched arms as the broom jets off parallel to the waters surface. I laugh again but without the terrified edge. "I hate you Harry." He laughs with me and soon slows down the broom after I am thoroughly soaked.

"Is that your version of a cold swim?" I ask.

"Pretty much," he chuckles.

"Well, here is my interpretation," I say as I stretch my wet arms backward and rub my wet clothes over his back.

"Hey!"

"You deserve punishment." Uh, oh, should not have said that, remember Hermione, you are still in the clutches of evil Potter. Say things like that when you are on solid ground. My death grip returns to the broom handle

Harry flips the broom over and we are hanging upside down. He reaches into the water and sends a deluge toward my back. I squeal as the icy water touches my skin. "This is not fair!" I whine.

"All's fair in love and war."

"Oh shut up!"

Harry splashes me again in response. I am sick of this, to hell with fright, remember my pride! I let go of the broom stick with my hands and dangle by my legs, just like Harry. I start splashing him backward, and by his reaction, I got him in the face. The splash war is just beginning!

After drenching ourselves, Harry flew me around the castle, letting the cool wind dry us out. I never realized how majestic the castle was from the air with the multiple gargoyles and stone tiers. I could have never seen a picture that captured its essence of peace, of home, like our flight did, even in my most revered book, _Hogwarts, A History_.

Harry flew steady and calmly, banishing my fear of flying, at least with him at my back. He, himself was at home up here on a broom. He was sharing a piece of his private world with me and I could for once understand how he found it so soothing. Flying was his second nature.

Soon, he flew me over the forbidden forest and landed on a rogue branch of a tall tree. We were still damp and the sun was beginning to set so we huddled together to keep hold of a bit of warmth. And so here I ended up, in Harry's arms.

"That was an interesting flying lesson," I casually comment as we watch the sinking sun.

"Well, you learned from the best."

"Although I don't think I learned how to fly"

Harry gave me the 'you dare challenge me' look. "This was just the FIRST lesson Hermione. I had to stamp the fear out of you some how."

"So almost killing me counts as 'stamping out the fear'."

He glares at me again with a disapproving frown. "Are you afraid?"

I turn away from his glowing green eyes. "No," I whisper, not when I am in your embrace, I want to add, but the red clouds remind me of Ginny and Ron and the promises we made to each of them. I should not be here, we should not be here, not with the war so close at hand. I do not want to cause fighting between our own ranks.

Harry reaches over and guides my chin back to his gaze. "See, your learning not to be scared of the broom," he whispers back. Or the whole idea of hurling through air and hitting the hard ground.

He doesn't remove his hand from my face. The slanting sun silhouettes his owlish spectacles and his black hair almost looks brown. His eyes glitter in the light. Light, bright beautiful and white, and I am shrouded in it. I want to live in it, breathe it in, drink it up and…

He slowly brings his lips toward mine and I slowly bring mine toward his. And they meet. Savior Harry Potter is kissing a sodden Hermione Granger. It's not fire works or lightening. It's white, pure and unadulterated. And we are hugging and feeling and touching, but most of all kissing. We can't get enough of this purity. Is he snogging me? Why, yes, yes he is, and damn his mouth tastes good. After so much darkness, so much grief and anguish, this simple act is such a release. And then--I want to.

…die in it.

The darkness woke me. I remember who I am, who I am with and why. I push Harry away. We both are breathing hard and the desire is still in the air. "Harry, I can't, we can't" I whisper resolvedly. He looks up at me, embarrassment in his gaze, all glimmers gone from the green depths. "I know, I know, I just…" a look of determination passes his face, "it was just the moment, wasn't it Hermoine?"

"Yeah, the sun just got to our heads."

He smiles at me and I smile back, the awkwardness dissipates. "Ummm," he fumbles.

"Lets go home." I finish for him. He nods his head, and we both jump onto the broom, except this time I can't feel his buttons because of the created distance. It's just not the right time or place. We both know we are promised to others and we both never want to betray those others.

We fly back to Hogwarts in silence and darkness, the cold wind whipping against our faces, making us forget the heat that was once there.

All to soon, we reach the entrance and solid ground. The lesson is over. Harry and I walk in together, a slow funeral walk with heads bent. At the door, Harry faces me again, broom in hand, "Maybe later."

"Maybe later," I reply, and we walk into the clamoring dinning hall.


End file.
